


materials to build a will to live (wood, stone, crystal, metal)

by batofgoodintent (crownedcrusader)



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Depression, Episode: s02e04 Salvage, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Suicidal Thoughts, a fic about what Conner meant when he said 'I can relate' to wanting to end the pain of existence, since apparently the writers never bothered to do anything with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 09:27:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14808683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownedcrusader/pseuds/batofgoodintent
Summary: Dick reviews some of Jaime's combat logs to get answers about the Blue Beetle's functionality, and come up with warning signs for any future malfunctions.What he finds while reviewing the data, though, gives him reason to worry.Not about Jaime, but Conner.(What kind of teammate was Dick, to not know that a teammate was depressed to the point of suicide?)





	materials to build a will to live (wood, stone, crystal, metal)

**Author's Note:**

> if you're easily triggered by discussions of suicide, this isn't the fic for you. however, no one actually does it. it's just a point of topic, and something conner's struggling with. also kind of a vent fic. not sure what to do about my feelings so lets project em instead. that sounds like a plan.
> 
> also sidenote i'll never forgive the writers for dropping this bombshell in episode four and literally never bringing it up again. wtf, guys.

It had been far too long since anyone had heard from Nightwing—or from Dick Grayson, for those close enough to know him as both.

Conner was in that latter category, but lately it felt like maybe he shouldn’t be. After all, he’d never been as close with Dick as the others were—and Conner never been all that close with the others, either. So he couldn’t help but wonder why Dick had reached out to _him_ before anyone else.

Him, Conner Kent—the one that most of the original team had glossed over for the last year or so.

It took some effort not to feel bitter about that. But to be fair, there were bigger things at work. Like Wally and Artemis retiring. And Kaldur turning traitor. And Dick becoming Nightwing and losing his younger brother, then gaining a new one shortly afterwards.

And, then, everything with M’gann. Her misuse of powers, her betrayal of Conner’s trust, her recent attempts to win him over again—

Maybe it was best not to think about M’gann.

Or what had happened in the time-frame after he broke up with her, either.

Artemis and her fake death, Kaldur’s mind being shattered almost beyond repair, and Wally…

There was nothing Conner could say about Wally’s death that hadn’t already been said. It had had an impact on Dick more than most people, which was why Conner forgave him for leaving, no matter how much the rest of the team needed him.

No matter how much Conner had needed him through the ups and downs of the last year—and no matter how little Dick had actually been there for him—Conner understood the desire to retreat.

What he didn’t understand was, again—why had Dick sought him out before everyone else? It wasn’t like he was particularly close with Conner. 

And though Conner was more of the stoic type than curious, he also preferred being to-the-point. So after he’d come into Nightwing’s apartment and looked around for a moment, and gotten comfortable on the old couch in the living room, Conner decided to stop letting Nightwing beat around the bush.

(Not that there was much of a bush they were beating around. The conversation before this had been _sparse_ , to say the least. Conner was pretty sure the longest sentence between them was, “You want a glass of water or anything?” to which Conner had simply answered, “No thanks.”

Maybe this was why the team had been more focused on everyone else. Because Conner couldn’t hold a damn conversation.)

“So,” Conner finally said, when he’d gotten truly sick of the awkward silence. “Was there a point to this? I don’t really know why you’d invite me here when you haven’t even let Tim visit you here.”

Dick blinked, taken aback by the bluntness. “I’ve been busy,” he said. “I probably should have talked to you more before this, I know—you and the entire team. But there’s something we need to talk about.”

Conner narrowed his eyes. “Like?”

“Like, something I came across when I was studying footage of Blue Beetle,” Dick said. At Conner’s unimpressed expression, Dick seemed to realize he owed Conner more of an explanation than that, for why he was violating anyone’s privacy. “After what happened to Jaime’s Beetle, I decided to spend some time going over any early warning signs I could find, and compare them to how the Blue Beetle normally functioned.”

“And?” Conner said, crossing his arms and leaning back a little.

The way Dick was looking at him made Conner feel almost as scrutinized as he’d been that first year, when he still felt he had to earn his position on the team.

(At least years two-through-four hadn’t been so bad.)

(Jury was still out on year number five.)

Conner tried to think more on why he’d been called, because he knew Dick didn’t do anything without a reason. And if he was taking time out of his ‘vacation from the team’ then obviously this was important to him. For all Conner knew, this might be a serious accusation, like Roy calling someone out on being a mole all those years ago.

Especially if he was gathering evidence, digging up footage of Conner from so many months ago.

Except, this felt intuitively more like the interventions Dick had tried with Roy.

So in the interest of pride, he decided not to just grin and bear it, and to actually call him out on it. Trying to keep the suspicion out of his voice, Conner asked, “What’s the point of calling me here, if this is about Blue Beetle? I hardly know the kid. I can count on one hand the number of times he and I have even talked, or even been alone together.”

“Seems like that’s your story with a lot of people lately.”

Conner narrowed his eyes again. “Wanna run that by me again?”

“You haven’t really been talking to the rest of us. Not for a while.” Dick’s face showed something almost like guilt, just for a second, and Conner’s stomach knotted. “I was so busy with things back in Gotham that I didn’t notice when it started. But you haven’t really been close to any of us in a while, Kon.”

For the first time since he’d been invited inside, Conner wondered if it was a mistake to come here. “Plenty of people have been distant since Wally died,” he said. “I don’t think you’re one to talk, given that you left the team.”

“This started before that and you know it, Conner.”

Conner pursed his lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Just say what you need to say and let’s get this over with. Why did you invite me here?” he asked, then, “Especially when you’ve pushed everyone else out lately? Why _me_?”

Dick’s expression became strained, just for a moment. “Those recordings I mentioned. There’s… there’s something in here I need you to explain,” he said. “For now, just watch, okay?”

He wasn’t sure why, but Conner felt his insides drop.

Though he couldn’t remember many details about the few times he’d hung out with Jaime, clearly something had happened enough to make Dick suspicious and upset. And there were only so many possibilities Conner had to work with.

Had he hurt the kid without knowing it?

But before he had a chance to question what was going on, or defend himself, footage started up on the TV screen, showing Conner on a mission with Jaime.

The one where they’d teamed up and taken out the Golem.

It only took a matter of seconds for Conner to realize _exactly_ why Dick had called him here, and his blood felt like it had frozen in its veins.

Still, the video played on, and Conner was rooted to the sofa, unable to get up no matter how much he wanted to be anywhere but here.

“Where is the stillness of wood?” the Golem’s voice said through Jaime, impossibly sentient and impossibly sad. “Of stone? Of crystal? Of metal?”

Conner could remember his own thoughts, from then. About his pod, and his life before the team rescued him.

The silence that came from not having to think or feel or live a real life.

How he’d never be able to get back to that. How he probably didn’t want to go back to that, but how things were so chaotic now that he was a real person.

He remembered feeling a pang of sympathy as the Golem continued on through Jaime’s voice. 

“All this noise, all this life, is _pain_ ,” it had said, and Conner’s stomach dropped while he listened, the same way it had the night it happened. “We sense the power in this place, power enough to destroy us. To end the pain. To be still, again.”

And then, his fatal flaw—the reason that Dick had called him in here.

“I can relate,” Conner had said.

Only seconds later, the Conner from the tape was already backtracking, as if aware that it had messed up by saying such things aloud. Conner from now only wished that his past self had done a better job at covering it up. Maybe then he wouldn’t have worried Dick enough for an intervention. “I mean—” he’d started, clearly uncomfortable with living with what he’d said. “—We can help you! We _will_ help you!”

Dick paused the recording, skillfully avoiding anything unnecessary after this moment—which made Conner wonder just how many times Dick had played this particular video.

There was nothing else Dick needed to _hear_ to come to his obvious conclusion, but it was clear he had a lot to say.

Conner took the coward’s way out, and avoided eye-contact.

“So,” Dick said. “I’m going to get straight to it, Conner. I think you understand why I wanted to talk.”

“This is a huge violation of privacy,” Conner said, staring down the wall across from the TV. “And it happened _months_ ago. What’s the point of talking about it _now_?”

“Because you still hardly talk to the team.”

“I used to talk to Wally.” And he regretted it as soon as he said it, because he could practically see the light fade from Dick’s eyes. “And Artemis, before she came out of retirement and…”

Dick cut him off. “Did you ever talk to them about this?”

“What was I supposed to say?” Conner asked, voice pretty sharp for someone who couldn’t even look at his accuser. “It didn’t feel like it was any of their business. And after what happened with M’gann, I… I couldn’t tell them what she’d done, so they took her side. They would’ve seen this as…”

Dick moved closer to him on the couch. It was an obvious ploy to get Conner to just _look_ at him, but Conner wouldn’t bite. “They would’ve seen it as what?”

“They would’ve thought I just wanted attention.” Then, he paused for a moment, sitting lower in his seat, head falling forward to stare a hold in the ground. “I don’t know. I didn’t know what I was feeling back then, so it’s not like I knew how to bring it up to them.”

“…Should you have tried, Conner?” Dick asked, like the answer wasn’t an obvious yes.

“It doesn’t really matter anyways, because I didn’t _do_ anything to myself. Physically, I’m just fine.”

Dick was silent for a long while. Conner could practically hear him trying to figure out what to say—but what was there to say, at this point? It happened months ago. Then, finally, “Do you still feel like that, Conner?”

“Like what?”

“Like you want things to stop.”

Conner still didn’t look at him. “As long as I don’t do anything about it, it doesn’t matter,” he said, voice almost vindictive. “I’m not gonna make the team lose another founding member. At least, not intentionally.” It was an obvious dig at Dick, and he knew Dick knew that—but he couldn’t deal with someone who legitimately cared. Not now. Not when it was too late.

So he stood, and risked one single, uncertain glance towards Dick. The expression he saw made his stomach feel a little sick, but there was no helping it—he couldn’t stop his old friend from feeling concerned.

“Are we done here?”

“No,” Dick said. “But I can’t really stop you from leaving, either.”

Conner managed a laugh, but didn’t manage any noise or feeling behind it. “Yeah. Well. This has been fun. If you decide you ever want to hang out because you actually like me, let me know.” Before Dick even had a chance to process that, Conner continued with a slightly bitter sounding, “We used to be friends, Dick. But I think you forgot that I’m not just a project for you to _fix_ because you feel guilty about Wally.”

And just like that, he left the way he came, not even hesitating at the door.

Conner didn’t need a therapist, and he definitely didn’t need an old teammate to play therapist.

He only needed a friend.

It was just his luck that the only person to notice his depression was Dick—the one person who probably could’ve pulled him out of it, if he’d bothered to notice a few months ago. But it was too late for intervention now. Conner had long since learned to live with the loneliness.

So he went back to the Watchtower, went to his room, and sat down on the edge of his bed. There was a lot to process, he knew—but for now, all that Conner wanted in his head was static.

At least he was somewhere with a perfect view of earth, where it was silent and peaceful, and the world didn’t look as chaotic and busy as it truly was.

From here he could be alone with his thoughts. And as long as he didn’t run into anyone from the League or the Team, no one was there to offer him pitying glances or halfhearted attempts at ‘inclusiveness’.

After all, nothing was worse than realizing he was only invited to the things that were mandated for all team-members to attend.

The only thing worse was having to choose, at random, someone to come with him for missions because he had nothing else.

(Like the whole reason he was on that mission with Jaime, of all people—because no one else was there to ask.)

Up here in his room, Conner didn’t have to pretend to be fine and social, or pretend he believed he still had friends. Friends who hadn’t noticed him pulling back, and hadn’t cared or second-guessed him leaving the one person who’d ever prioritized him. Friends who’d sided with her and been too busy to notice that he had no one left.

All the ups and downs with the team, all the deaths and betrayals and returns and pain that it had caused, and no one stopped to think that Conner had been alone.

He hadn’t even been trusted with the plan. Hadn’t even been spared the pain of knowing that his friends weren’t all dying or leaving him.  

But things were fine now. Really.

Conner didn't mind it, anymore, not having anyone to turn to.

Up here in his room at the Watchtower, no one tried to pity him for being a loner. And as long as he didn’t try to have acquaintances or, god forbid, _friends_ —then he wouldn’t have to face the constant reminder that he wasn’t anyone’s first option. Not his team's, not his ex's, not Superman's.

He wasn’t much of anything, to anyone. Not anymore.

And that was fine.

It was better this way.

Because if nothing else, he got his stillness and quiet, miles above the earth at the Watchtower.

As long as he got his radio silence up here, at least he wouldn’t seek out any other methods of achieving ‘peace’.

 


End file.
